The Book of Jobs - what Steve is doing on The Cloud

Sunday 16 September - Day 12 of 30

Steve woke up this morning and immediately knew that anyone who came near him today would be sorry. He felt rude, mean, obnoxious, insolent, abusive, arrogant—he might as well be back on The Earth, where he’d been called all of those things, and more, often because he’d deserved it. At any rate, he’d gotten used to it. He did not want to get used to it on The Cloud.

He pulled the eiderdown over his head and decided not to get up. It was Sunday. He didn’t have to report to work. He did have an invite to another Deathday party, Maria Callas this time, her 35th, but he couldn’t face it. She would sing. He would cry. People would be solicitous. He would get angry. Stay away.

It was very quiet in The Star. The sleeping areas in his wing were deserted. Isaac Newton, who had the mat next to his, was already out, as usual, and apparently everyone else was also. Steve was glad to be alone. He wanted to achieve a more peaceful state before they returned.

For hours he lay there and thought about his future and then for hours he thought about his past. Late in the afternoon he got up and found some large sheets of paper and a pencil.

Across the top of one page he printed: Steve Jobs 1955–2011, and on another sheet: Steve Jobs 2011–2067. He drew a line across the top of the first sheet, then drew six vertical lines, creating six equal columns, each representing a decade of his fifty-six and a half years on Earth. Down the left hand side he made rows, labeling them with headers and leaving space to fill in the details. Birth. Childhood. High School. College. Apple. NeXT. Pixar. Marriage. Children. Apple. Death.

In each block he made notes about what was most important during that decade, what he remembered, what he had done, how he had felt, where he had lived, who had lived with him. He could see this process would take several days.

He took the second sheet of paper and drew the same six columns, this time labeled 2011–2020, 2021–2030, etc. He didn’t know how to label the rows except for the first one, which he called Arrival, and the last, which he called Departure. 

In the first column he made notes about his first year on The Cloud, his journey through wonderment, disbelief, frustration, hope, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. He also noted the fun times, the concert, the first genius party, the trip to The Beyond. In the last column he noted the six-week orientation period required before departure.

Then he stared at the mostly blank page. Fifty-five and a half years to go. He was going to have to live through them.

But how?

 (to be continued tomorrow)